


you either die a hero or

by youheldyourbreath



Series: watch the world burn (vigilante spider-man) [1]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-28 01:06:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20417333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youheldyourbreath/pseuds/youheldyourbreath
Summary: “Peter, what are you doing here?”He held her close to him, his fingers threaded carelessly in her loopy curls, and said, “Em,” His voice snagged on a tear. “I know what I need to do, but I—I couldn’t leave."She almost protested.He hushed her with another kiss, "Not without saying goodbye.”





	you either die a hero or

**Author's Note:**

> this is smut. only smut. no plot here. if you are looking for the plot, the fic "live long enough to see yourself become the villain" will fill in the blanks. but I don't think its necessary to read that fic to understand this one. because, well. this is smut. only smut.

“You shouldn’t leave your window open,” he said.

She cursed, loudly, and flicked on her bedroom light. “Jesus, Peter.” She clutched her chest and struggled for a deep breath, “You can’t sneak up on people like that.”

Light filled the room and Peter took her in, up close, for the first time in months. She was just as he remembered her, too beautiful for words. The fissure in his chest that had only grown more and more broken in the days since he had left her, messily started to stitch together. “_Em_,” he whispered.

She looked torn…no, furious. And hurt. And so, so relieved to see him. All of those emotions warred for dominance on her face. But before just one emotion could settle on her features, he saw something alarming occur to her and she hastily brushed past him, shutting her window and drawing her curtains. “What are you doing here?” she whirled on him. “Someone could have seen you. Of all the stupid, **reckless**—mm…”

He silenced her with a kiss. Without her even realizing, drawn like a satellite to her gravitational pull, he had bridged the distance between them. His hands cupped her cheeks and he leaned up, just so, to tilt her face into his kiss. He felt her eyelashes blink drowsily shut as she returned his embrace, her own hands fisted in the brown curls at the base of his neck. She hummed, deliriously amused yet plainly aching, “You need a haircut.”

He huffed a wide smile against her mouth, “I missed you.”

When they finally broke apart, they pressed their foreheads together and he could imagine her mustering the courage to ask, “Peter, what are you doing here?”

He held her close to him, his fingers threaded carelessly in her loopy curls, and said, “Em,” His voice snagged on a tear. “I know what I need to do, but I—I couldn’t leave."

She almost protested.

He hushed her with another kiss, "Not without saying goodbye.”

* * *

Michelle was an aching wound, the testament of her sorrow, heartbreak, jaggedly torn down her heart in looping, uneven patterns that ripped open the day he left. At first, it was excruciating. She warred with the twins of worry and sadness. Eventually, she learned to endure it, like all broken-hearted women do, and, began to look for him. Fight for him. With a picket in one hand and a bullhorn in the other. 

He did not kill Quentin Beck. He was not evil, like the media made him out to be. He was a teenager that was doing his best to protect the people and the city that he loved. 

She focused on that. It was easier. 

But now, with him here, it felt as if every touch and whispered word put her in danger of losing herself, once more, like she had in the first days he had disappeared. Michelle pressed her nose against his cheek, pleading him with touch and silence-- _don't go_. He was going to leave her, again. She would be alone. 

"Don't go," she said out loud. She felt his shudder under her fingertips, as he hauled her closer to him, impossibly close, in his arms. He felt frail. When she had last held him, screaming like a banshee as they flew through the clouds on his webs, he had been solid and strong. She dipped her head away from his face to look at him and heard the wet hitch that erupted from her throat. "Oh, Peter..." 

He looked weary and tired and delicate. Superheroes were not supposed to sport such weakness. Yet, he was stitched together with them. Somehow, under his mountain of grief and troubles, he had not given up.

MJ flared with anger. She cupped his sunken cheeks. "You're a mess." He hiccupped a laugh. She managed a silvery smile just for him, in spite of the way her own tattered heart clanked in protest. "You stupid, brave boy." 

All of her efforts of composure shattered when Peter lurched forward and kissed her so despairingly it made her head woozy. 

She clutched the worn red of his suit at his shoulders with a delirious grip and swayed. His arms, which were the pale memory of the caging muscle they used to be, were still strong. She luxuriated in the press of their bodies. For the first time, they could kiss as deeply as they wanted.

Before he went away, he had been too shy and sure that they had all the time in the world to rain down such savage kisses. There were no such promises, now. The world gave the two teenagers nothing and asked them to be grateful. 

* * *

Peter would be lying to himself if he pretended he did not know why he had slipped into Michelle's window that night. As she sighed against his demanding mouth, he could not deny what he wanted. _Her_, he silently prayed to whatever Gods or deities or beings of Grace were listening. _Let me have her just this once before... _

He growled when Michelle wrenched herself out of his arms. She rolled her eyes and pulled her shirt over her head. MJ let it fall carelessly to the ground. His mouth dropped open. Peter was in awe. The glowing expanse of skin that was exposed was a feast for his eyes. Everything about her was long and taut, but he knew if he was to reach out and touch her she would be soft.

She punctuated his surprise with a chaste kiss. "If my stomach is going to stop you in your tracks like this, what are you going to do when I take off my bra?" He could tell she was teasing him, but he did not have the wherewithal to be embarrassed or care.

A stupid hand, his, reached out to flatten against her stomach. She inhaled sharply. "You're...." He failed to speak. "Wow." 

Before he could get his brain to reboot, she was kissing him, again. He could taste her concentration, his beautiful and brilliant girl. She was trying to draw something from him and when a groan rippled from the basest part of his psyche, she smirked against his mouth. Michelle slung one arm around his neck and pulled him forward, bowing her back, and he followed her down, down, down. 

* * *

Michelle had no idea what she was doing. Her hands felt clunky and unpracticed. She feigned confidence the best she could, but she was not sure she was pulling it off. Her stomach rolled when Peter pressed her down into her purple duvet. The bed creaked in protest when their two bodies first collapsed on it. 

It felt just this side of good, to be held down by the weight of his body, and she stretched her body out, luxuriating, as they kissed. The fine material of her pajamas bottoms did nothing to suppress the feel of his growing member knocking between her legs. It made her tremble in wicked anticipation. 

In the darkness, she heard Peter choke, "I want to take off your bra. I want to eat you out. But I..." She felt a rush of heady shivers wrack her nervous system. "I don't know what you want." 

"Yes," she cried, scrambling to anchor her fingers in his hair. "Yes, everything. All of it. Just don't go." She hated how vulnerable she sounded and was thankful that the darkness of her bedroom hid her glistening eyes.

He stilled in her arms. The weight of his body was no longer delicious, but suffocating. Their lips parted and he peered down at her. She turned her face away, twisting it in the purple mess of duvet. With a careless hand he brushed the blanket away and implored her to look at him, gently turning her face to gaze up at him. She sniffled and he sweetly kissed her nose. "If this is too hard..."

"No," she shook her head, bidding her lip not to wobble. Michelle steeled herself, locking away all of the sad, aching parts that possessed every thought she had about Peter Parker in the last few months. "No, I'm okay."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"If you go now, that would hurt me."

She watched him agonize over her words and it did not give her any pleasure. They had hurt each other enough. They deserved some peace, or at least one golden night of it before he doubtlessly plunged himself back into the war. 

Finally, something resolved settled on his features and he seared a hot, feverish kiss on her open mouth. Her spine twisted off the bed, joining their bodies at every precious point they could feasibly connect. It was everything and more and she grabbed a fistful of his hair without a mind for the pain. She wanted to scrape and claw and bite at him. Utterly devour him. 

If he did not devour her first. 

He fell between her legs with such brutal care that she was shaken by the sudden change in position. She hoisted herself up on her elbows and looked down at him as his wide hands spread her thighs apart. Michelle bit her lip. With his eyes locked on her, he hooked his fingertips in her pajamas bottoms and panties, the useless, flimsy fabrics that they were, and eased them down her legs, uselessly tossing them aside when he was through with them. 

Michelle was a mess of frayed nerves and longing. With her utterly on display for him, she felt she ought to be embarrassed, but he looked at her splayed body like it was everything. He devotedly ducked his head between her legs and sucked bruises onto the inside of her thighs, making her flesh erupt in shivers. She fell back off her elbows and draped an arm over her face, moaning. If his little teasing bites felt like this, she could not even fathom what his mouth might feel like. 

He did not make her wait to find out. He took to eating her out like a scientific study. He was thorough in his explorations and what he did not know, he studied. He tasted her in long swipes and quick flicks. He lapped between her legs like he was divined for it, and every time she so much as twitched, he pinned her hips down with his hand and explored that tick until she was keening. 

Peter was unpracticed. Michelle hardly minded. She needed relief, more and more, with each mounting moment he worshiped at the wet juncture of her thighs. And he was frantically impatient, too. He wanted to do everything to her all at once. She could feel the tension in his shoulders as he battled between sucking her clit and licking a long stripe up her lips. 

It was too much. No one person was meant to feel everything at once, like exploding stars in some distant galaxy. 

His mouth was sinful, and she wanted to gawk. Mild-mannered Peter Parker ate pussy like he was starving for it. She wanted to slap his shoulder and scold him for making her wait all those long, lonely nights to have him between her legs. 

The sound he made when he pulled off of her with a wet kiss was sinful and tore a sob from her babbling lips. "_Peter_," she wept. His finger sunk inside of her, where his tongue no longer lived, and he watched her writhe on the bed. "Peter, please," she asked but she did not know what she was begging for. 

**Relief**. She needed relief. Craved it. 

He looked pleased with what he saw and wrenched her knee over his shoulder, spreading her open further. His prodding finger, moving in and out of her, did not stop its ministrations. His dark head fell back between her thighs, found her clit and _sucked_. 

Michelle splintered apart, clutching his head between her thighs, and grappled for purchase. One of her hands fisted in her duvet and the other clamped down in his hair.

It was unlike any orgasm she had ever had in her life. It sparkled. 

* * *

The first thing he noticed when he extricated his face from between her legs was that Michelle was still wearing her stupid, cotton bra. Well, it was _almost_ the first thing he noticed. He clocked the screwed-up, relieved and glorious aftershocks of her orgasm that still echoed on her face.

It was dumb, misguided masculine pride that swelled in his chest and prompted him to admit, aloud, "You look good when I make you come." He deserved the pillow that flew toward his face. Peter caught it and laughed. It was an easy, youthful sound. He had not felt like a teenager in so long. Michelle was coaxing all of the forgotten parts of him to the surface. 

He fell on top of her and kissed her, and she did not protest the taste of her now imbedded in their kiss. Her tired arm looped around his back and the other sunk between them to slam the spider at the center of his suit. The spandex fell away, like water, and Peter smiled into her sweet, sated kisses. "Can I help you?" he teased. 

"Get your damn clothes off, Parker," she scowled. But there was no bite. She looked mirthful. Peter grinned, sloppy and wide. It was a good look on her-- happiness. 

"You first," he playfully retorted. 

"I am naked," she nipped at his mouth. 

Peter silenced her with a long, luxurious kiss. "Mm, nope," he finally said. "Bra." 

She eased him off of her enough to unlatch the cotton prison and, like girl magic, she slid it off without consequence and dropped it to the floor, with one perfectly arched eyebrow raised in challenge. "Now, I'm naked."

His eyes narrowed. Yes, she was naked. And there were no words for what the sight of her tits did to the aching member hanging in agony between his legs. He dropped his head to her light and airy squeal, and darted kisses across the peaks of her breasts. Her laughter turned into gasps as he sucked one of her nipples into his mouth and sucked on it like he did her clit. The unattended breast rolled over in his hand, as he kneaded it to a hardened peak. 

MJ sighed, "Get your suit off, Peter. I am-- _oh my god, Peter_\-- I am not joking." 

With a huff, he slid the already dropping suit off of his shoulders and kicked it to the ground. Michelle smiled into his shoulder as he struggled. And he could not help but kiss the crown of her head. But his good will all but evaporated when he went back to her breasts to knead and lick and suck and bite at them, and swatted his hand away. "You're not naked." 

"I am," he frowned. 

"Mm, nope," she said, repeating his earlier gripe. "Boxers."

Peter let out a string of curses as he struggled to tear his boxers off. For some reason, the undergarment became impossible to remove. He rolled around, trying to get them off, and thudded to the ground with an oof. Michelle let out a peal of giggles.

Peter stood up, tore his boxers off, and pounced back on her, playfully. "Are you _laughing_ at me?" She shook her head, still blatantly laughing. "You are! You're laughing at me." 

MJ clutched her side, aching from her giggles. "You fell off the bed." 

"That's it, Jones," his mouth stretched into a broad smile. "You're gonna get it." 

She shrieked and, for the first time that night, Peter wondered if her parents were home. He stopped thinking about the Joneses when he pinned MJ to the bed and she reared up to kiss him. She was smiling. He was smiling. Peter was not certain he could even call the sloppy press of their lips a kiss. It was too stupid, smiling teenagers pressing mouths. 

And it was wonderful. 

Too soon the sweet, playful nature of their embrace bloomed into something more urgent. The time to go slow was long gone. Neither of them knew how long they would have past this night. By morning, Peter knew he would be gone and he suspected Michelle knew it, as well. There was an undercurrent of agency in the way she bumped her hips up against him. She silently asked him something. He felt a douse of fear and kissed her. 

They were loathe to separate for even a moment. They knew separation too well. It had been the plague of their relationship these last months. Peter did not want to be alone anymore. He found Michelle's hand in the moonlight. 

Peter broke their kiss and looked down at her. He rasped, "MJ." It was another question, the twin to her own, or an anguished plea. She nodded, cupping his face, and her calloused thumb brushed against the lines that were now apparent on his face. 

He slipped one arm between her and the wrinkled, purple duvet and lifted her body just _so_. Together, they angled in a quiet, purposeful way. Their eyes never broke. Not once. And together, they guided him inside of her.

It was good. Better than good. Peter resisted the urge to push inside her to the hilt, burying himself in the face of unimaginable pleasure, and instead slowly inched himself inside of her, at her speed. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to remain focused. Michelle did not look like she was in pain, but he could tell, the stretch was far from comfortable. She nodded, urging him on, every time her body adjusted to his size, until finally, miraculously, unbelievably he was seated inside of her. 

He pressed the most gentle butterfly kisses on her nose and cheeks and eyes. It was a thank you in actions, if not words. 

They shuttered an awkward rhythm. Peter moved too quickly. Michelle pulled too tightly. It was strangely quiet, almost reverent, as they rocked in shallow thrusts. But with time, the shallow thrusts gave way to an expressive pulse. And when, on one particular thrust, Peter slammed into MJ, to the root, she keened. Her eyelids drooped closed and she arched off the bed. His hand drifted to her thigh and clutched at the skin there, as he repeated the motion. She cried out again, grasping for him, nails biting his back. 

Their thoughts roared-- _yes, more, mine, **stay**. _

And as Peter felt his body begin to surge with the strange, possessive thrum of taking, he whispered, into her gasping mouth, "I love you."

She nodded, half out of her mind, but did not say it back. Michelle had forgotten every other word except his name. MJ chanted it over and over again, urging him on, clinging to him as their bodies made indecent sounds together. "I love you," she finally sobbed in breathy, high cry when she fluttered around him, dragging him down into the radiance of some other world where they would stay together for all time. 

* * *


End file.
